


When the Nights Get Long

by track_04



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Friends to Lovers, M/M, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-22
Updated: 2015-08-22
Packaged: 2018-04-14 22:30:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,294
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4582563
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/track_04/pseuds/track_04
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The story of Bucky Barnes and Howard Stark: sleeplessness, shared drinks, stilted conversation, and a somewhat unlikely friendship.</p>
            </blockquote>





	When the Nights Get Long

**Author's Note:**

  * For [anassa_anemou](https://archiveofourown.org/users/anassa_anemou/gifts).



> A huge thank you to my recipient for the chance to write this pairing! I had a lot of fun, and I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. 
> 
> And another thank you to my beta, who continues to be the best.

Bucky's chest still ached, even after a few weeks back among friendly faces and a round of pills that probably hadn't done much more than his body would have managed on its own. Still, the dull ache he felt now was nothing like the burning in his lungs when he'd been stuck with the others at the HYDRA base, wondering if he was going to be the next one that the guards drug off to die. He could still remember what that felt like, how hard it had been just to breathe. Thinking about it was enough to make him feel twitchy, like he was going to wake up any minute and he'd be back there, cold steel at his back and a thick band around his chest, holding him in place. 

He'd bummed a cigarette off of Dernier their first night back in camp, hoping to smoke the uneasy feeling away, but a couple drags had been enough to make his chest feel tight. He couldn't bring himself to try again after that, the thought leaving him shakier than the lack of nicotine. The worst part was it left him at loose ends, with nothing to distract him when he couldn't sleep and felt too antsy to lie in bed staring at the shabby canvas ceiling of the tent he shared with Gabe and Dernier. 

He'd taken to wandering around camp instead, keeping his head down and sticking to places where he wouldn't risk running into Steve or Dum Dum or anyone else who might have been up at odd hours and would look at him with even the slightest hint of worry. The sound of his own footfalls always helped ground him a little bit, pulled him out of his thoughts enough that he didn't get quite so caught up in his own head. 

He felt less shaky by the time he reached the edge of camp and stopped next to a spot with a tree and a patch of grass that hadn't been churned into mud from too many boots. Sleep wasn't anywhere in his near future so he sat down, legs stretched out in front of him and back pressed against the tree. He tilted his head back to look up at the sky, trying to decide if the stars really looked different than they did at home or if he just wanted them to.

The camp was as quiet as a place with this many people ever got; the constant low-level of activity reminded him a bit of the noise of families in his apartment block back home, the quiet creaking of floorboards and the low hum of conversation at all hours of the day and night. He tapped his fingers against his thigh in an unsteady rhythm, wishing he had something to do with his hands.

"They don't teach you guys to sleep in Brooklyn?"

One of the last people Bucky had expected to see out roaming the camp in the middle of the night was Howard Stark, but that was who was currently smirking down at him, one hand thrust into the pocket of a pair of slacks that probably cost more than most people made in a month. He looked calm and confident and more put-together than anyone in an army camp really had any right to be, and Bucky could feel the way his spine straightened and his mouth flattened out in a response that had been honed from a young age, dealing with men in nice clothes who didn't have time for a dirty-faced kid from the wrong neighborhood.

"What's it to you?"

"Just curious." Stark shrugged, like they were talking about baseball or the weather and Bucky wasn't giving him sideways looks from where he sat stiff and uncomfortable on the ground. "Rogers is always up at odd hours, too. I thought maybe it was something in the water."

"Steve doesn't sleep because he's too busy trying to figure out ways to save the world." Bucky rolled his eyes and looked away, forcing his shoulders to relax. "He's been like that since we were kids."

"I can't say that's surprising." Stark tapped his foot against the ground once, twice, and Bucky shifted, his back starting to itch where the bark of the tree was pressing up against the wool of his uniform. "What about you? You out here trying to save the world?"

"No, that's Steve's thing. I just--" He lifted a hand and waved it in front of him, like the gesture would fill in for the words he couldn't quite find. "You know."

"Yeah, I think I do." Stark took a step closer and pulled his hand out of his pocket, holding it out to offer Bucky a small, silver flask.

Bucky stared at it suspiciously before he finally gave in and reached up to take it. He uncapped it and took a long drink, ignoring the way he could feel Stark watching him and just letting himself enjoy the slight burn of alcohol against his tongue. He rubbed at his mouth with his hand and offered it back, eyes fixed somewhere around Stark's left pocket. "Thanks."

"Anytime." Stark slipped it back into his pocket and stood there still and silent until Bucky got uncomfortable enough to tilt his head so he could meet his eyes. Stark winked, slow and exaggerated, before he turned and walked away.

Bucky couldn't stop a small smile as he watched him go, fingers absently ripping at the grass beside his thigh.

\--

The next time Bucky ran into Stark it was beneath the same tree, but this time Stark was the one waiting, leaning up against its trunk and staring thoughtfully into the middle distance.

Bucky was exhausted from three nights spent sleeping in the mud behind enemy lines. He smelled like gunpowder and sweat and wasn't feeling at all suited for human company. Stark looked as put-together as ever in a pair of dark slacks and a button down with the sleeves rolled up, every hair on his head perfectly in place. Bucky considered walking the other way, but Stark turned and spotted him before he could make his escape.

"I thought not sleeping was supposed to be a Brooklyn thing."

Stark shrugged, turning a bit so he was fully facing Bucky, his hands tucked into his pockets and his mouth tilted up on one side. "Maybe it's just a New York thing."

"Could be." Bucky stopped far enough back that Stark wouldn't be subjected to the smell of him and mirrored Stark's posture, his hands hidden in the pockets of his jacket. "Shouldn't you be building fancy new weapons that are going to win us the war?"

"I already did that before breakfast." Stark's smile looked tired, and this time when he pulled the flask out of his pocket, he took the first drink before he offered it to Bucky. 

Bucky reached for it, trying not to let his dirt-stained fingertips brush against Stark's hand. "You keep that in your pocket all the time, or just when you know you'll be running into me?"

"Depends. Which do you think sounds better?"

"Probably the first one." Bucky took a drink and handed it back, still careful not to touch.

"Then I guess we have our winner." Stark took another drink and then tucked the flask away, relaxing back into the tree and giving Bucky a blatant once over. "I take it your mission went well."

"As good as they ever go." Stark kept looking, and Bucky arched an eyebrow, half-impressed at his boldness. "I should go get cleaned up."

"It would probably be best for everyone if you did."

"Probably." Bucky grinned and then winked at Stark, catching a glimpse of Stark's answering smile before he turned and walked away. He wondered if this meant sharing a drink and having stilted conversations with Howard Stark was going to become a regular part of his life.

\--

"Steve told me you were a mechanic." Stark didn't offer him a drink or a smart remark this time, just leaned up against the tree beside him.

Bucky was busy trying not to think about the mess he'd made of their last mission, glaring daggers down at his feet. He knew Steve and the other guys didn't blame him, wouldn't hold a missed shot or a miscalculation against him when they'd all made it through alive and mostly intact, but he couldn't quite shake the feeling of failure.

Stark was a welcome distraction from the downward spiral of his thoughts. Bucky just hoped he didn't look too grateful about it. "I worked part time at a garage back home." 

"Really?" Howard smoothed a hand over his moustache and watched Bucky in a way that was a bit too shrewd to be comfortable. "So you're good with your hands."

"I guess?" Bucky shrugged. "Just cars and a few bikes. Nothing fancy."

"Good, then you can come with me. I need help with a project."

"What? No. I helped change oil and swap out fuses in cabs and delivery trucks. I'm not really qualified for whatever it is you want me to do."

"If you're worried about blowing yourself up, I'd never let that happen." Stark clapped him on the shoulder. "Especially not when I'm going to be in the same room."

"I was more worried about putting something together wrong and having it blow up someone else when they tried to use it."

"That hardly ever happens," Stark said, completely serious.

Bucky surprised himself by laughing, loud and genuine. "That's not really that comforting."

"That's the best you're going to get." Stark shrugged, and Bucky couldn't help but appreciate how unapologetic he looked.

"Fine, I'll help. But you owe me a drink."

Stark slipped the ever-present flask out of his pocket and held it out to him. "How's that?"

Bucky rolled his eyes and reached out to take it. "I didn't used to be this cheap."

\--

"Have you ever been to Italy?" Stark didn't bother with pleasantries anymore, just jumped right into the conversation with both feet and expected Bucky to follow.

"Yeah, two weeks ago." Bucky watched as Howard settled down beside him, looking like he belonged there, legs stretched out alongside Bucky's and probably getting grass stains on the back of his expensive pants. "Why?"

"No, I don't mean like that." Howard waved a hand in front of him, and turned to look at Bucky with a frown. "You ever been sometime when you could enjoy it?"

"No? I wasn't really much of a world traveler before this." Bucky shook his head and frowned back at him. "Why do you want to know?"

"I was thinking about this restaurant in Milan. Terrible wine, but easily the best polenta I've ever had." Howard shifted to lean back against the tree, his face getting that far off look that Bucky had seen a few times, usually when he was in the middle of one of his neverending stream of projects.

"Don't think I've ever had polenta."

"Yeah? You should. I'll take you there sometime so you can try it."

"Sure." Bucky turned his head to stare out at the camp and let the quiet settle around them, wondering if that restaurant would even still be there when this was all over.

\--

Bucky had two different Howard Starks in his head: the one that existed back home in photographs and front page headlines, untouchable and aloof, and the one that existed here, far too real but distant in an entirely different way.

The Howard Stark that belonged to home was charming and unafraid and completely out of Bucky's reach.

The Howard Stark that belonged here was focused and intense, but there was an uncertainty underneath it all that was easy enough to see when he let you get close. Bucky didn't manage to get that close very often. 

Bucky didn't know which version of Howard Stark would be there after the war was over, but there was a part of him that hoped he'd get a chance to find out.

They were in the tent that served as both Howard's sleeping place and his makeshift workshop, bent over opposite sides of an old table that was covered with half-finished projects and various parts. Howard was making notes on several sheets of paper that he had spread out in front of him, stopping occasionally to give Bucky instructions or nudge a particular piece in his direction. 

"Do I have something on my face?" Howard was looking at him in that way that always made Bucky feel like he could see right into him and what he saw was endlessly amusing. Bucky hated that look.

"What?"

"You've been staring at me for the last ten minutes." 

"Sorry. Just thinking." Bucky shook his head and looked down at the mess laid out in front of him, trying to remember what he'd been doing. He was suddenly aware of how quiet it was, the scratch of pen on paper the only other sound besides their breathing. "You like baseball?"

"Baseball?" Howard paused, face thoughtful. "I don't mind it. My father was a big fan. Always used to go across the hall so he could listen to the games on our neighbor's radio."

"Yeah?" Bucky forgot, sometimes, that there had been a time when Howard wasn't a household name. He wasn't sure if it was reassuring or not to be reminded. "Yankees or Dodgers?"

"Yankees."

"Really?" Bucky made a disgusted sound. "I can't believe I'm friends with a Yankees fan."

"Technically, I'm the son of a Yankees fan."

"Remind me that I need to take you to a game at Ebbets someday. You need to see what real baseball looks like."

"Am I allowed to say no?"

"No." Bucky looked up just in time to catch Howard's smile.

"Then I'll pencil it into my calendar."

\--

Bucky was still half strung out on adrenaline when he walked into Howard's tent, bloody and bruised and completely exhausted. It wasn't the way that they usually did things; every other time Bucky had been there, it was because they'd met outside and Howard had invited him back with him, but tonight he felt too much like he was going to crawl out of his skin to wait around.

Howard was sitting on his bed, a pen caught between his fingers and a notebook open on his lap. There was a small line of ink across one cheek, like he'd rubbed at it and been too lost in thought to remember he was holding a pen. Bucky's fingers twitched with the urge to wipe it away.

"Couldn't sleep?" Howard didn't look surprised to see him, like Bucky barging into his tent in the middle of the night, dirty and out of sorts, was to be expected.

"Yeah, I--" Bucky shook his head and looked down at his feet. "Yeah."

"Good, you can make yourself useful, then." Howard held the pen out to him. "I think too fast to get it all written down on my own. Easier if I dictate to someone."

Bucky took the pen from him and settled onto the opposite end of the cot. If Howard noticed the way his hand shook as he reached for the notebook, he didn't seem to mind. 

Bucky didn't say thank you, but Howard didn't seem to mind that, either.

\--

Bucky wasn't sure how he felt about London. It wasn't a bad city, even if it wasn't home, but they only ever seemed to be there after they'd come off a bad mission or while they were waiting to be sent out on a mission that would probably end up that way. Just being there was enough to set his nerves on edge. It made it hard to sit back and have a few drinks and let himself enjoy the rare night's leave that they'd been given. He still had to try, though, so he wouldn't ruin it for everyone else.

"You okay, Buck?" Steve's voice was quiet as he leaned closer. Across the table, Gabe and Dernier were talking in rapid French and Falsworth and Morita had stopped pretending like they were still listening to whatever story Dum Dum was telling. It was the same thing that they did when they were out in the field, only with clean clothes and beer, but something about it felt off.

"I'm swell." Bucky lifted his glass in a mock toast and grinned, knowing full well that he wasn't going to fool Steve, but still willing to try. "How 'bout you, Mr. Hero?"

Steve rolled his eyes. "Swell? Really?" 

"What? I thought that was how all the sidekicks in the comics talked."

"You're not my sidekick." Steve's face fell and Bucky felt like the world's biggest asshole. "You know that, right?"

"I know, Steve." Bucky slung an arm around Steve's shoulders and pulled him in, still thrown off by the way it felt now that Steve had two inches and thirty pounds on him. "It was just a joke."

"Well, at least your sense of humor is still lousy." Steve elbowed him in the ribs, and Bucky gave his shoulders one last squeeze before he pulled away and stood. "I'm gonna go get another drink. You want anything?"

"No, I'm good." Steve held up his half-full glass and opened his mouth like he was going to say something but then thought better of it, smiling weakly and waving him off instead. 

Bucky smiled back, grateful.

He ordered a whiskey and took a seat at the bar when it arrived. It wasn't that he didn't want to be around Steve or the other guys, but sometimes being around them made his chest feel tight and he just needed space so he could breathe again. He didn't really have that luxury when they were out in the field, so he had to take it where he could; Steve didn't really seem to understand, but he was didn't act like he resented it, either.

He was halfway through his glass when Howard slid onto the empty stool beside him. "I'm surprised you're not in there, listening to Dugan's war stories."

Bucky turned to look at him, thinking that Howard's expensive slacks looked less out of place there. "They're not as interesting when you're in most of them." 

"I guess that does spoil all the endings." Howard lifted a hand to motion the bartender over. "I thought you'd be in France for a few more weeks."

"We finished early." Bucky watched as the bartender filled a glass and slid it across the bar to Howard. He wondered if Howard still had his flask in his pocket or if he'd left it back in his room, wherever that was. "What about you? Thought you'd be holed up somewhere, working on some top secret project."

"I'm between top secret projects right now." Howard reached for the glass and lifted it in a mock toast. "Thought I'd take the night off, see what happened."

Bucky clinked his glass against Howard's and laughed. "Well, if you're in the mood for war stories, I know a guy."

"I don't think that's the kind of entertainment I'm in the mood for tonight."

"Yeah?" Bucky finished off the rest of his drink and set the empty glass back on the bar with a thunk. "You want me to leave you to it?"

"You could." Howard shifted his arm closer to Bucky's on the bar top. "Or you could come back to my place for a drink."

"Yeah?" Bucky watched Howard give him a once-over like they weren't sitting in a crowded bar in full view of everyone, his eyebrows pushing up toward his hairline at the blatantness of it. "You want that?"

Howard finished looking finally and grinned, the expression like a challenge. "If you're up for it."

"I could go for another drink." Bucky tilted his head at Howard's still-full glass. "You gonna finish that first?"

"I think I'm good." Howard turned, clapping the man seated on his other side on the shoulder and pushing his drink over to him. "Have one on me, pal."

Bucky laughed and slid off his stool, heading toward the door with Howard at his back.

\--

Howard was staying at an old apartment block within walking distance of the bar, some place that wouldn't have looked entirely out of place back in Brooklyn. The walk was long enough that Bucky was starting to second guess himself by the time Howard unlocked his door and motioned him inside, so he did the only thing that he could think to do and grabbed Howard's tie, pulling him in after him. Howard smirked and kicked the door shut behind them, his hands going to Bucky's hips as he let Bucky press him back against the wall.

Bucky grinned in a way that he hoped covered his nerves and leaned in for a quick, dirty kiss, enjoying the way that Howard's fingertips dug into his hips as he urged him closer. When he pulled back Howard was smirking at him, his moustache mussed in a way that would have been hilarious if Bucky hadn't had other things on his mind.

"I remember promising you a drink."

Bucky leaned in to mouth at Howard's neck, muffling a laugh. "I think I can live without it."

"Good." Howard slid a hand between them, working open the buttons on Bucky's shirt, echoing his laughter. "Because I don't really think I'm thirsty right now."

\--

Bucky had always liked the quiet that came after sex, the feel of sweat drying on his skin and the sound of his partner's uneven breathing. The only things that were different this time were that Howard was the person stretched out beside him and Bucky wasn't waiting for him to fall asleep so he could sneak out the door.

"Did you do this a lot when you were back home? With guys." Bucky was willing to blame the question on the looseness in his limbs and the way Howard was sprawled out on his stomach, looking as lazy as Bucky felt.

"Sometimes." Howard shrugged like it was no big deal. Bucky wasn't sure what to make of that. "You?"

"I didn't really get the chance that often." Bucky turned his head to stare at the ceiling, afraid if he kept looking at Howard it would ruin the peace he felt. "You think you'll do it again, after you go back?"

"Maybe, if I find someone who catches my interest."

"Yeah?" 

"Yeah. What about you?"

Bucky let his hand drift over until his fingers brushed against Howard's side. "I guess the same goes for me."

"I hope you find him, then."

"Yeah. Me, too."

\--

The next morning was surprisingly easy, both Bucky and Howard rolling out of bed at the same time and pulling on their clothes in companionable silence. Bucky had just finished buttoning up his shirt when Howard tossed the familiar silver flask onto the bed in front of him. Bucky reached out to pick it up, turning it over slowly in his hand. "What's this for?"

"I've got some business in Russia I have to take care of." Howard finished with his tie and smoothed it against the front of his shirt, looking so put together that Bucky wished he didn't have somewhere else to be so that he could take the time to mess him up again. "Thought I'd leave it here for safe keeping."

"With me?" Bucky blinked. "You sure that's a good idea? No one's asked me to keep an eye on anything for them since I killed my cousin's goldfish when I was eight."

"Lucky for you this isn't a pet. Lucky for me, too, I guess." Howard smirked in that way that still kind of made Bucky want to punch him and reached out to grab the front of Bucky's shirt. He pulled him in, waiting for Bucky to stumble closer before he leaned in for a kiss, lingering a bit more than they probably had time for. When he finally pulled away, he took a look at Bucky's even more rumpled shirt and grinned, smoothing a hand down the front of it.

Bucky let him fuss with it a bit before he laughed and pushed his hand away. "Leave it. It's a lost cause."

"I had to try." Howard looked like he didn't really want to stop trying, but he pushed his hands into his pockets and took a step back instead of reaching out again. "I'll see you when I get back, then."

Bucky held up the flask with a weak smile. "I guess next time the drinks are on me."

\--

A week later Bucky was back at camp, sitting alone in what he'd started to think of as his and Howard's spot, when Steve found him. He had Howard's flask tucked into the pocket of his jacket, the shape of it against his side oddly comforting.

"So this is where you sneak off to when you can't sleep?"

Bucky thought about lying, but he knew he wouldn't have believed it. "Sometimes."

"And it helps?"

"Sometimes."

Steve thought about it for a minute and then nodded. "You heard about the intel we got on the HYDRA base near Munich?"

"The one in the castle, right?"

"That's the one." Steve looked like he was going to say something else, but Bucky headed him off, not sure he wanted to hear it. 

"When are we leaving?"

"Day after tomorrow. That'll give us enough time to get all the details ironed out and make it there in time."

Bucky nodded and stood, shoving his hand into his pocket, his fingertips brushing up against the cool metal of the flask. "Then I guess we'd better get to work."


End file.
